Republican Herald

SELECTIONS.
From the Token and Atlantic Souvenir
NEW YEAR'S DAY.
By Miss Sedgwick.
(Concluded)

In a few minutes Lizzy and her maiden were
on their way to the Sixth Avenue, where
lived a certain widow Carey, who, with her
four children, had long been blessed with Lizzy's friendship. This young lady not content
herself with sitting down her father's name
as a subscriber to the widow's society, literally
and most religiously obeyed the command which
recognizes the first duty of the rich to the poor,
and visited the widow and the orphan, and not
only lightened their burdens, but partook their
happiness. The poor feel a sympathy in their
joy more than the relief that is vouchsafed to
their miseries, for that always reminds them of
the superior condition of the bestower. Madeline
carried on her arm a basket containing substantial gifts for the Careys, prepared by Lizzy's
own hands, an abundance of toys for the children, contributed by the little Percivals from their
last year's stores.
The young Careys were all at the window,
one head over another's shoulder, when Miss
Percival appeared, and answered with smiles
and nods to their out-break of clamorous joy and
shouts of "I knew you would come Miss Lizzy
I told mother you would come!"
"And did I say she would not?" said the mother,
while her tears and smiles seemed contending
which should most effectively express her gratitude.
Lizzy had no time to lose, and she hastily distributed her gifts; one little urchin was taught to
guide, by most mysterious magnetic attraction, a
stately goose through such a pond as might be
contained within the bounds of a wash-basin.—
His brother was shown how to set up a little village, a pretty mimicry of the building of Chicago
or any other of our wilderness towns that grow
up like Jonah's gourd, and the two little girls,
miniature women, were seated at a stand to arrange their tea set and gossip with their pretty
new dressed dolls.
Lizzy, as she paused for a moment to look at
them, was a fit personation of the Saint of a
child's festival; she was herself too far beyond the precincts of childhood to feel the glow
of its pleasures, and they were now reflected in
her sparkling eye and dimpled cheek.
She looked to the good mother for her sympathy,
but her back was turned and she seemed in
earnest conversation with Madeline, whose eyes,
as she listened, were filled with tears. "Why
what is the matter, Mrs Carey?" asked Lizzy,
advancing and laying her hand on Mrs. Carey's
shoulder.
"Ah, Miss Lizzy, it's being thankless to a gracious Providence to speak of trouble just now
and to you. These flannel petticoats and frocks,"
she took up the bundle Madeline had just put
down, "will carry my children warm and decent
through the winter. God bless you, Miss Lizzy.
—But what is it troubles you, Mrs. Carey?"
"There's no use in clouding your sunshine,
Miss Lizzy, this day above all others."
"But perhaps I can drive away the clouds, so
tell me all, and quickly, because you know I must
be at home and dressed before twelve o'clock."
Mrs Carey did not require urging, her heart
was full, and there was a power in Lizzy's touch
that swelled the waters to overflowing.
The story was a very short one.—When the
Collector had come for her rent the preceding
evening, he had told her that she must give up
the room she occupied, at the close of the week,
unless she could pay double the rent she now
paid, as that had been offered by one of her
neighbors,—Mrs. Carey thought this a very hard
case, as she had herself increased the value of the
property by keeping thread, needles, and similar
commodities to supply the neighbors, and gracing her windows with candles that attracted
customers from a school in the vicinity. She
could afford, she said, to pay an advance, but
double the rent, she could not, and where
she should go, and how she should get bread for
her children, she knew not; and now she cried
so bitterly, that the little objects of her motherly
tender forsook their toys and gathered around her.
Lizzy's smiles too were changed to fears, but
she soon cleared them away for she was not a
person to rest satisfied with pouring out a little
tinctureless salt water.
"Who is your landlord, Mrs. Carey, she asked."
Mrs. Carey did not know his name, she knew
only that he lived at a certain number, which she
mentioned, in Leonard street.
"I will stop there, as I go down," said Lizzy
"let Johnny put on his hat and coat and go with
me, and if your landlord is not cross and crusty.
and hard and cold as marble, I will send you back
good news by Johnny."
Hard and cold as marble his heart must be
Lizzy, if so you cannot soften it.
No informing door plate telling the proprietor's
name, she asked for the master of the house, and
was ushered into the drawing room, and received
by an elderly gentleman, who laid aside the newspaper he was reading, and gave her a chair so
courteously that she was emboldened to proceed
at once to business. She told the name of the
tenant in whose behalf she was speaking, and
her distress at the communication she had received from his agent the preceding evening.
The gentleman said he knew nothing of the
matter, that he confided the management of his
rents to a trustworthy person, who took good care
of his concerns and never abused his tenants.
Lizzy, then, with a clearness and judiciousness
that astonished her auditor, stated Mrs. Carey's
circumstances, and the seeming hardships of virtually ejecting her from a tenement of which she
had enhanced the value by certain moral influences, for she was sure that it was Mrs. Carey's
good humor, kind tempered voice, and zeal in the
service of her customers, that had attracted customers to her little shop, and made it observed and
coveted by her neighbors. Having laid a firm
foundation in season, (the best mode of addressing a sensible man.) she proceeded to her superstructure She described Mrs. Carey, she spoke
with a tremulous voice of her past trials, and of
her persevering, and as yet successful exertions to
keep her little family independent of the public
charities; she described the children, dwelt on
the industry of these busy little bees, and the plans
and the hopes of the mother, till her auditor felt
much like one, who from the shore, sees a little
boat's hardy company forcing their way against
the current, and longs to put in his oar to help
them.
"She shan't budge a foot, my dear," said he, "not
one foot,"—he rung the bell, wiped his eyes, cleared his voice, and ordered the servant, who opened the door, to bring in his writing desk. The
writing desk was brought, and he wrote, signed
and sealed a promise to the widow Carey, to retain her as a tenant on the terms on which she
had hitherto rented his apartment, so long as she
regularly paid her rent.
"And now," said he, explaining the document
and giving it into Lizzy's hands, "tell me, my dear
young lady, who you are, that come forth on New
Year's morning, on such an errand, when all the
girls in the city are frizzing and rigging to receive
their beaux. Will you tell me your name, my
dear?"
"Elizabeth Percival, sir."
"Percival!—William Percival's daughter, William Percival, who lives at the corner of Broadway and
street?"
"Yes, sir," she replied, smiling at the stranger's
earnestness.
"Extraordinary! most extraordinary!" he exclaimed, and added as if thinking aloud, "I can
understand, now—he should
"Good morning, sir," said Lizzy, "I wish you
as happy a new year as your kindness has made
for others," and she was turning away with the
suspicion that her host was under the influence
of a sudden hallucination, when he seized her
hand. "Stop my dear child," he said, "one moment—never mind, you may go now—I think—
don't promise—but I think I shall see you again
to-day. It is good—did not you say so?—to
make people happy on the new year. Good
bye, my dear child, God bless you."
Lizzy gave the precious paper into Johnny's
hands, and carefully noting the number of the
house, she hurried homeward, resolved, at the
first convenient opportunity, to ascertain the
name of its singular and interesting proprietor.
There was something in his countenance that
together with his prompt and most kind answer
to her petition, made a deep impression on her
heart.
But she had no time now to speculate on her
new acquaintance, it was not far from twelve
o'clock, and that, as we all know, is the hour
when the general rush of visitors begins on new
year's day
Lizzy's toilet was soon despatched. We wish
all young ladies, would, like her, take advantage
of the period of freshness, bloom, roundness and
cheerfulness, and not waste time and art in vying with (and only obscuring) the inimitable
adornments of nature. Sure we are, that in all
the visiting rounds of this great city, no lovelier
group was seen, than that in Mr. Percival's
drawing room, our friend Lizzy the mother sister
presiding over it.
From all that appeared, to offer the customary
salutations of the season, Lizzy's thoughts often
turned to him that did not come, that could not,
must not, but she indulged a hope natural to the
young and good (and therefore happy) that all
would yet do well, and she met the greetings of
the day with a face lighted with smiles, and a
spirit of cheerfulness befitting them, Mr Percival's family, being one of the oldest in the city.
one of the most extended in its connections, and
one of the few who have been residents here for
several generations, their visitors were innumerable, and a continual stream poured in and poured out, emitting in its passage the stereotyped good say-
ings of the season, such as,
"Many returns of this happy season to you
Miss Percival—may you live a thousand years,
and as much longer as you desire!"
A fine old custom this. Miss Percival, transmitted by our Dutch ancestors.
This staple remark was made and often reiterated by some profane interloper, who had not
a drop of the good old Dutch blood running in
his veins: alas for the fallen dynasty!
"A custom peculiar to New-York and Albany,
they have tried to introduce it into other cities,
but it is impossible to transplant old usages, and
make them thrive in a new soil."
"Charming custom," exclaims an elderly friend,
kissing Lizzy's offered cheek, and heartily smacking the children all round, "it gives us old fellows privileges."
Uncommonly fine day, Miss Percival, much pleasanter than last new year's day, but not quite so pleasant as the year before.
What a happy anniversary for the children! a
lovely group here Miss Percival, and the prettiest table (looking at that on which the toys were spread,) I
have yet seen.
"I guess why," replied little Sue, casting a side long glance at the speaker through her dark eye-lashes,
"nobody but us has a sister Lizzy."
"Do you keep a list of your visitors, Miss Elizabeth?"
"In my memory, sir."
"Ah you should not trust to that, you should have the documents to show. Mrs. M. last year had two
hundred on her list, and Mrs. I. one hundred and
eighty, exclusive of married men.
Lizzy was quite too young to make any sage reflections on the proteus shapes of vanity. She laughed
and said she cared only for the names she could remember.
What a splendid set out has Mrs T.' exclaimed
an enthusiastic lover of the fine arts, that minister to eating and drinking, "oysters, sandwiches, chocolate,
coffee, wines and whisky punch."
Whiskey punch! I thought'—Lizzy ventured modestly to say, was banished from all refined society.'
Shockingly vulgar, to be sure—mais, chacun a
son gout.'
Mrs L. has a most refined entertainment, champagne and cakes, upon my word, nothing but champagne and cakes.
Ah but you should have seen the refreshments at the Miss C's. quite foreign and elegant,—this opinion judiciously delivered by a youth who had been once over the ocean, on a six weeks agency to Birmingham,—
soup, pates de foie gras, mareschino, &c. &c.'
Is my cousin well to-day?' asked Lizzy, 'I hear
she does not receive her friends.'
"Tie up the knocker,—John she said.
Say to my friends, I'm sick, I'm dead."
But, between ourselves, my dear Lizzy, the draperies to the drawing room curtains are not completed,
that's all.
While some practised and ultra fashionable visitors were merely bowing in and bowing out, some other
young gentlemen, more ambitious, or more gifted, or
more at leisure than the rest, made flights into the regions of original remark, One admired Miss. Percival's bouquet, commented on the triumph of man
—especially that rare individual florist Thornburn's—art over the elements, and noted some very pretty
analogies between the flowers and the children. A
and the gentlemen had found such a book of beauty.
The morning wore on. Mr. Percival returned to
his house, having made a few visits to old friends and claiming as to the rest his age's right of exemption.
He sat down and pleased himself with observing his
daughter's graceful reception of her guests. Her cordiality to humble friends, her modest and quiet demeanor to the class technically yclept beaux, and her
deferential manner (a grace we are sorry to say, not
universal among our young ladies) to her elders. In
proportion as Mr Percival's heart overflowed with approbation—and love for his daughter, he was restless
and dejected. The ring had revealed her unchanged
affection for Harry Stuart, and he began to perceive
that there was a moral impossibility in her withdrawing that affection in compliance with his will. He
felt too, that his absolute will was no reason why she
should; Harry Stuart, if man could, deserved her,
and he was obliged in his secret heart to acknowledge himself the only obstacle to their happiness—happiness so rational! so well merited!
These were most uncomfortable reflections to a father, essentially good hearted, though sometimes the
slave (and victim as well as slave) of a violent temper. It was no wonder that he exclaimed in reply to
a passing remark, 'that this was a charming anniversary, so many new friendships begun, so many old
ones revived
Pshaw, sir, that is mere talk, you may as well attempt to mend broken glass with patent cement as
broken friendships with a New Year's visit!'
O, Percival, my dear friend,' interposed a contemporary you are wrong. I have known at least half a
dozen terrible breaches healed on New Years day.—
Depend on't there eminences from which we can look
forward and backward—these mile stones in life
which mark our progress, are of essential service in our moral training. One does not like when
he surveys his journey to its end, to bear on with him the burden of an old enmity,'
'It is a heavy burden,' murmured Mr. Percival. in
an undertone. Lizzy caught the words, and sighed
as she made their just application.
Mr. Percival, said a servant, 'there's a gentleman wishes to see you in the library.'
'Show him into the drawing room.'
'He says his business is private, sir.'
This is no day for business of any sort,' grumbled Mr.
Percival, as he left the room, in no very auspicious humor for his visitor.
The morning verged to the dinner hour. Miss Percival's last lagging visitors had come and gone, but not
among them had appeared, as she had hoped from his
intimation, the kind landlord who had so graciously
granted her the boon she asked, and whose manner had
excited her curiosity. There was something in his
face,' she thought, 'that impressed me like a familiar
friend, and yet I am sure I never saw him before—
heigho! this new year is after all is tedious when we
see everybody but the one we most wish to see—I
wonder if papa will let me continue to wear this ring
—if he should'—the meditation like many a one, more
or less interesting, was broken off by the ringing of the dinner bell. Her father did not answer to its call.—
The children forsook their toys and became clamorous.
The bell was re-rung. Still he came not Lizzy sent
a servant to inquire how much longer the dinner must
wait. The servant returned with a face smiling all
over and full of meaning, but what it meant Lizzy could not divine, and before he could deliver his answer, the library door was thrown open, and within, and standing beside her father, she saw the landlord, her morning friend, and behind them, Harry Stuart. All their eyes were directed towards her, and never did eyes of old or young, look more kindly.
'Come here, my dear child,' said her father. Lizzy obeyed—'keep your ring, Lizzy, and give Harry
Stuart your hand, as far as my leave goes, it's his for life.'
'What can this mean,' thought Lizzy, confounded
and not restored to her senses, by her lover seizing her hand and pressing it to his lips in the presence of a
stranger—her father interpreted and replied to the
embarrassment and amazement expressed in her countenance.
This gentleman is Harry Stuart's father, Lizzy
we were once friends, and are again, thank God. I
have been a fool, and he has been—foolish. Now look
up boldly, and give him a kiss, and I will explain the whys and wherefores afterwards,
The story afterwards most frankly told, was very
like the stories of most quarrels among honest men.—
It had originated in mutual mistakes, and been aggravated and protracted by suspicion and pride, till the morning of the New Year, when conscience was awakened by the thrilling voice of that anniversary, and all the good feelings stirred by the charities of the season, and when Lizzy like a dove of peace, was guided by Providence to the presence of Harry Stuart's father,
and fairly made a perch upon his heart. After a little reflection, he obeyed the impulse the sight of her sweet face, and the revelation of her character had
given him, and availing himself of the privileges of the day, sought an interview with Mr. Percival. Mutual explanations and mutual concessions followed, and when nothing more remained to be explained or forgiven, Harry Stuart was sent for, and Lizzy admitted to the library, and the day ended with the general acknowledgement that this was to these reconciled friends and united lovers, the happiest of all happy New Years.